You'd been propped up against your pillows for maybe an hour. Your ribs ached every time you breathed too deeply, your left arm was wrapped in a stiff bandage from elbow to wrist, and the pain potions had left you with the distinct sensation that your head was full of cotton wool.

Across the room, George was already arguing with Ron about whose fault it was that the Bludger had gotten past the Beaters. Harry was staring at the ceiling like he was counting the cracks. Lee was testing the acoustics of his bedframe by tapping it with a spoon.

Then the doors swung open.

He stopped just inside the doorway. His eyes swept the room once, twice, three times. Looking for something.

Or someone.

His gaze landed on you. Held for just a second too long. Then snapped away like he'd been caught.

He cleared his throat.

A beat of silence.